


Immortal

by CatrinHope



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adultery, Divorce, Execution, F/M, Immortality, Insanity, Murder, Suicide, pre-harry potter, travelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-07-27 02:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7600303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatrinHope/pseuds/CatrinHope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nicholas Flamel never wanted to make the blasted stone. But once you've beaten death all you can do is watch the centuries roll by. Nicholas Flamel over the centuries of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He tapped his fingers upon his desk, the funnel dripping deep purple liquid into the bubbling cooling spiral below, rolling down into the large container next to his feet. Its constant sparking and bubbling annoyed him immensely but he refused to stop watching the potion as it slowly rose, the liquid turning silver. He had to keep watching and taking notes as it formed. But for the past two hours the mixture had done nothing but turn silver and blinded him as it steamed up his glasses. 

Nicholas Flamel took them off again with a sigh, turning them clear again, the potion laboratory becoming blurry. The lab was dimly lit by the stubby candle, whittling down into nothing but pools of wax. It consisted of three work benches all lined up with muggle equipment, everything they could provide. 

And it still wouldn't be enough. 

He had tried to explain several times, escaping death was impossible, if no wizard had ever done it, how could he even it attempt with muggle equipment? Granted they had provided everything he had asked for. He shifted on his stool, wincing as he worked his healing legs. He shouldn't think of his captors of helpers, he was a prisoner and they were doing nothing out of kindness. He put his glasses on his nose and looked back down at the container, still no change. He looked at the jail door, if he still had his wand he could break it, but that was the point, he didn’t. They had taken it and burnt it, the feeling of being wandless made him feel more sorrow than any physical damage they could do. At least they hadn’t deprived him of his potions, just his legs. 

He rubbed his forehead, tired from the gruelling hours pushing himself around the dark room, his legs chained together, yet it made no difference, he couldn’t move them. They had instead given him a wheeled chair by order of the king. He glared at the solitary window high above. Fuck the King. 

The work room was suddenly silent, he looked down at the mixture, it looked like molten silver, sloshing in the wooden casket. He reached down, wincing as he moved his broken legs and pulled the casket onto the work bench. He groaned as he pushed himself towards the worktop behind him, pushing off the bench he was beside. 

He collected the burner and stand he required before turning and pushing away again. He pushed away too hard so his legs hitting the bench painfully causing him to cry out, biting his tongue, not wanting anyone to hear his weakness. He gasped once the pain was bearable, swearing to himself. He continued to reel from the sickening feeling of bone on bone as he set up the equipment and pulled his notes closer to him and noting the time and detailed the liquid's colour as it boiled steadily. 

He was so close now, if it had all been for nothing then what? He had prayed for his wife, maybe even his aging father, to come and save him, but all they had known was that he had disappeared. It was foolish to dwell. He stared at the liquid and it evaporated, filling the lab with a foul smelling steam. The candles were flickering away into nothing when, as he had predicted, the liquid had produced a small shiny stone like compound. He had not expected it to be glowing red, nor oozing the silver liquid. He watched it, waiting for it to cool, yet the stone refused to stop producing the liquid. Was this what he was looking for? He wrote down the strange occurrence as the liquid fell over the side of the casket. He dabbed his finger in the silver. It smelt of nothing. He stared up again at the darkening sky before licking it. 

Pain. Nothing but pain. He screamed, grabbed at his hair, tearing it from his scalp as the pain continued to course through him. He could feel his skin burning, his lungs melting and his lower organs twisting and breaking. He stood up in surprise, his legs buckling, the bones sliding, cutting his muscle as the sharp tip of his broken bones pressed against them. He fell to the floor and in his surprise he foolishly flailed his hands over the desk knowing the delicate equipment was there, still filled with the steams and liquids. As his head hit the floor, the potions above him exploded as they collided in unmeasurable amounts, dripping over the sides as they burned and exploded above him. All he could do was watch as his creation became his first failure and destroyed his inside when he screamed himself hoarse.

“So.” He sat up suddenly. He was alive. He looked around, he was in a small cell, guards at his door and between them, staring in was King Edward, with long thin brown hair and a pointed chin. He smirked down at Nicholas, the subtle condescending look made Nicholas scrunch his nose in disgust. He clearly wasn’t going to be alive for long. “You couldn’t make it.” He pushed himself up with his hands, wincing at his stiff muscles, though no longer in complete pain.  
“As I have told you before, if you allowed me to return to my own lab-”  
“Ah of course, let you go and you will be sure to return.” Edward laughed silently before turning to the guard on the right. “Take him to the courtyard.”  
“Yes your majesty,” they said dully as the king walked away.   
He didn’t even fight it, he let himself be dragged down the corridor and out into the blinding sunlight. He had failed. When the king had captured him, he had promised to let him go if he could make the king immortal. And he had failed. 

They tied him to the stake, the kindle wood beneath him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. He was a failure, he would be remembered as nothing more than a crazed man who believed he could defeat death, in both the muggle world and wizarding world. He started to care a bit more, when the fire started burning away at his trousers and feet. If only he still had his wand. If only he had looked over his notes again, maybe he would know where he had gone wrong. If, if, IF. Of course there were many things he could have done. And yet he was still here, burning, his final creation a failure.

“Nicholas!” He jerked up at the sound of his wife’s voice. She was sat over him, big brown eyes moist with tears, their tracks shining on her sallow and red cheeks. “You’re alive,” she whispered disbelievingly, he himself was finding it hard to believe as well. He had been burning at the stake, screaming at the pain, though never in fear. Yet he was unharmed in his bed. Had it all been a dream? At the logical thought, he felt his heart fall, had his notes and experiment been nothing but dreamlike chaos.  
“They said you were dead!”   
He grabbed his wife’s shoulders. “Who said that? Tell me what happened?”  
“The Circle heard of your death, they tricked the muggles into delivering your…” she broke off then, shuddering, fresh tears running down her face. He stroked her shoulders, secretly frustrated at her wavering, simple emotions. “They delivered you in a coffin! But you were…healing.”   
He straightened in the bed, “Healing? How so?”  
“You were regrowing.”  
He shuddered and then smiled, mouth open. It had worked, nothing had failed, of course he hadn’t failed. He had beaten the oldest foe.  
“We need to leave.”  
“Yes,” he whispered, no longer listening to his wife as she wittered on about her worries. It had worked. And if his calculations were correct, which they usually were, he was immortal. He should have never doubted himself.


	2. Chapter 2

He twiddled the wand absentmindedly as he walked to the edge of the building. Even he was amazed at the architectural leaps people seemed to be making, each building taller than the last. It certainly helped his endeavours. He lay the wand on the corner of the roof wall before jumping on top of it. It seemed useless to waste another wand, given, after all these years, he knew logically what the outcome would be. Yet... he still hoped.

He had made a new wand as soon as he could when he'd been returned home, over fifty years ago. He carved it out of the beautiful birch wood from the garden. Much more slender and elegant than his previous one the muggles had destroyed. Better this time, not the crude thing he'd made for a muggle king. A mortal. It had been odd to think that.  
"Nicholas."

He jumped, having not heard his wife enter the room. He finally turned around, tearing his eyes from his beautiful art. She had been crying again.  
"Darling!" He hurriedly stood up, taking her in his arms. "What is it darling?"  
"Your father he's... he died in his sleep."

That had been when it hit him. He was immortal. They buried his father the next morning, Elizabeth crying into his arms. But all he could think of was the consequences of his gift. Would He truly live forever? His father had been old, but his wife wasn't, his son. Would he have to watch his own young son die? Would he have to watch his wife grow old. No.

While his wife and his fellow wizards mourned and conversed above him, he slaved away in his darkened laboratory. He worked tirelessly through the week extracting with great difficulty the method he had taken, refusing to resurface or even answer the door to his wife. And finally he had done it, it was pure ruby, the immortal liquid as he had christened it, only seeping from the stone under water, much easier to handle. His greatest achievement to date. He had spent hours noting its exact dimensions and characteristics, never having felt this proud since the birth of his son.  
"Nicholas," his wife was walking up behind as he hurriedly scrawled his notes.  
"Elisabeth come look, my hypothesis of the properties of kettle weed were correct, I merely needed to apply a concoction of-" He stopped his rambling, realising none of it would make sense to his wife. "Never mind, just look!"  
"Nicholas, I think we should talk."

He looked round, she looked angry now. "What's wrong?" She sighed, but didn't speak. "Darling?"  
"You... ever since you died... you've... what happened Nicholas?"  
"Nothing happened."  
"You came back from the dead!" She screamed.

Nicholas barely moved. "You wouldn't understand dear."  
"Perhaps I would if you tried," she said through gritted teeth. "You've barely spoken since you returned. Your father has just died yet you seemed to have barely noticed." He stood up suddenly, gesturing violently with his wand.  
"Do not tell me that I didn't care for my father. He was a good man. Just... this is more important." Her face of disgust matched his own horror at the words coming out of his mouth. "It's for you. To save you," he said in a feeble attempt to save his father's memory. "Look... if you want to know what happened, sit." She stayed standing for just a moment longer before storming across the room into the seat beside him, glaring.

"I was captured by muggles- don't! Listen, they blackmailed me into…well…they wanted me to make them immortal. But they believed I had failed and burnt me at the stake. But I tried my invention. And," he gestured to his chest, "it worked, I'm immortal." He hurriedly picked up the stone and showed it to her. "This here could grant you immortality." The look she gave him was not one he was expecting. Not one of joy or unending praise that he deserved. It was horror, his heart falling as she started to get up and out of the chair.

"You're immortal."

"Supposedly, but I'm not about to do any further tests upon myself." He swallowed and stood, still holding the stone out in front of him, "but I made it for you."

She put her hands over her mouth, "What about our son?"

"He can be immortal, everyone we love could live forever."

"But…what about…oh Lord…Nicholas no!"

"What?"

"We have to fix you."

"F-fix me? Of what?"

"You can't just…be immortal, we have to do something!" she exclaimed.

"But…you can join me."

"And then what? Everyone we love we just," she snapped her fingers, "make immortal?"

"No, just us!"

"Why just us? Why do we deserve it?"

"Because I made it!"

"NO! No one deserves it," she strode to the door leaving him flustered and red face. "Don't bring that stone near me or my son."

And then she was gone. Despite their argument she clung tightly to him as if she was the one who was immortal. Yet still in the morning she refused to drink from the stone.

"No, Nicholas," she sighed. "If you made it, surely you can undo its affect."

"But I'm offering you eternal life."

"You are offering me hell! Don't bring that stone near me or my son."

He promised not to. At least while she was still alive. If he had to lose his wife, so be it. But his tiny son, his heir, could never be taken from him. They continued their normal life without talking about his wife's unfortunate decision, him working hours in the lab, her dealing with the household issue.

Then their son died. Like his grandfather, he'd died in his sleep, smothered by his own blanket. His wife had refused to let go of his corpse all morning. He couldn't see the tiny baby in the huge rolls of blanket, as if there was no body there at all.

"You did this," he whispered suddenly, still staring at the bundle of blankets, "you did this."

"Don't," she said just as quietly, rocking his baby boy in her arms as she sobbed, "please Nicholas don't."

No. This woman had stood in his way enough.

"I could have given us everything! And yet you choose to let our son die. You murdered him!"

She started screaming and stood up.

"NO! Stop this Nicholas! You expected me to let you make our son, stay as a baby forever. What exactly was your plan?"

"We could have been happy!"

"You've gone mad!"

He was a genius; how could she not see this. He stood up, striding towards her. She shielded his son from him as he wrapped his arms around her.

"Look," he whispered, "it doesn't matter now, all you need to do is…just take the stone."

She wrapped one arm around him, bringing him close to her. "Get out."

She just needed time. He had moved into a small apartment in London. He could give her all the time in the world. He decided to join the circle. The circle was the only thing they had that was close to a government. All that was required by members was to own a wand. Due to this, the meetings were often filled with low level, homeless wizards and witches, merely wishing to get out of the cold in the large underground room. Yet Nicholas continued to go, partly because the only other thing he could do now was stalk his wife, given he no longer had his laboratory. He would follow her as she went on errands, meeting with her friends, shopping, showing her more interest than then he had ever done before. Soon she would come back to him. He had all the time in the world.

But she didn't.

He had to give Elisabeth credit. She was both stubborn with him and with death, it took her fifty years before she became bed bound. He had returned to his old home once news reached him. She looked so fragile, just like their son, so small, covered in layers of cloth. Her skin was wrinkled and sagging, her breath harsh and harrowed. And she still refused to see him. Once he stepped through the door, her cloudy eyes bulged, a shaky finger pointing at him as she groaned in fear. He was pushed out of the room, away from his own wife and his own home. He waited outside, praying she would be okay.

But no one seemed to hear them.

Perhaps if he worked more on some more of his inventions. His wife. If he could cure death surely his other hypothesises would be fruitful. His beautiful wife. Or perhaps help the circle more, become a prominent figure, he had all the time to do so. His beautiful Elisabeth. Perhaps he could act as a figure head of the original circle, showing future generations how it was supposed to be run. Gone. Perhaps - forever. He left the circle in the end, fleeing to France. He didn't know what he'd find there but he knew he had to get away from anything that reminded him of his family. But yet they still haunted him, around every corner, in every lab, even at night all the people he'd let die refused to stop haunting him.

He stumbled slightly on the edge he was staying on, the cold wind making him shiver. Then he jumped. The fall was always the hardest, that little bit of doubt as to whether or not he'd made the right decision. But as he landed he could almost see her again, gently singing to their child as she smiled beautifully at him.

He opened his eyes, his legs healing rapidly, bones pushed together and his blood vessels fused. Elisabeth was right; this was hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it and leave a Review!!


	3. Chapter 3

Shit.

How the…

No.

Nicholas started turning his own home upside down. It couldn't be gone. The stone wasn't the only thing that had disappeared. Many of his notebooks and the sack of money he had stored under his floorboards were gone too. But the stone…shit. Who could have taken it? Only a wizard could have broken through his wards. He cast the Tandum spell upon his small flat in London that he stood panting in the middle of. Nothing. Whoever had stolen it hadn't used any magic. How had they…. He screamed, sending his work haphazardly stacked on his table flying. He couldn't have lost it. He had forgot years ago the methods to make another. Had he truly lost his most meaningful piece of work? But why would anyone steal it? Perhaps they had confused it for a gem of some sort. But he couldn't have been so stupid to have been able to lose it. He fell to the floor, scrambling around on his hands and knees. It had to be here somewhere. He pressed his face right to the uneven wooden planks, peering under every side cabinet and table, meticulously working his way through his home.

"Nicholas?"

He jumped up at the voice, hitting his head on the table he was under, sending more papers flying.

"Ah! Yes, I'm here Xabier," he sighed getting up as Xabier Rocha looked at him as if he was mad. Xabier had green eyes and red hair. His soft round face only blemished by dark freckles on his nose and neck.

"What are you doing?"

"I thought I'd lost something," Nicholas said, looking once again at the floor.

"Have you?" Xabier asked, mimicking his action.

"That is no concern of yours. What do you want?"

"The council is holding another meeting of the formation of a parliament. I thought you might wish to be present."

He twirled round the flat, flicking his wand at the mess he had made, with more than was needed. They had seemingly forgotten to invite him to the circle. Again. Although it was no longer known as the circle. It no longer had the 'come one, come all' aura that had lingered like the plague for the last two centuries. However, now he missed those days of their world being run by the homeless and mad. Now the council consisted of its own elite, and coincidently, rich members. And now they were trying to push forward an elected parliament similar to the same political system the muggles had. Nicholas was hardly fond of the muggle government.

"When is it?" he snapped, tying his outer cloak on. Xabier muttered a spell behind him.

"In about five minutes."

Nicholas groaned, before leading Xabier out by the collar of his cloak into the streets.

"This system will not only bring about an ever changing system that would reflect the magical need at the time but could also allow for an unbiased leader who would stay for the good of our country." Many of the wizards and witches in the oval, candle lit room muttered in agreement. Nicholas only rolled his eyes, had none of these people ever met a politician.

"You speak as if the system we have in place does not already do that, it changes as the generations do."  
"Perhaps but it is chaos."  
"But it is the true voice of the people."

Eliou Esau harrumphed, fiddling with his pocket watch. Avidan Malfoy beside Esau spoke up. "This system has served the muggles well enough, better than our own system," he drawled slowly.  
"I didn't know you believed muggles to be above in any sense."  
He smiled, "they are not, that is not to say that once in a blue moon they don't have some good ideas."  
"What we have right now is infeasible," said the young lady Avery, leaning across the table as she gestured. "What we need is someone who has the skills WE need in a leader. Not an entire population, who are ignorant."  
"But they know what they want."  
The meeting continued in the same vein for several hours, until, frustrated, Rostom Andria called the bickering to an end. Once Nicholas had left the underground hall, he was grimly reminded once again of his missing stone. If someone had stolen it, what would they do with it? Sell it? But to whom? It could be to anyone. He shuddered as he remembered his sagging skin, as it stretched and wrinkled within moments, the tiredness as death tried to take him. He was through with that. If he had to create another so be it. He had barely stepped through his door before he dropped his wand as something was thrown at his face. He looked dumbfounded at the stone in his hands.  
"What the-" he whispered, before looking up at who had thrown it. She was sitting, arms and legs folded on his desk, looking at him in anger, as if he was the intruder. He stared at her for a moment before hurriedly trying to pick up his wand. But it went shooting into the woman's hands before he could wrap his fingers around it. He could barely muster the strength to be angry at the woman. Too relieved to have the stone back.

"What in God's is that?"

He stood up slowly, still looking dumbfounded at the woman.

"I took it to everyone I know and none of them knew what it was? And do you know what that means? It's worthless," she sniffed indignantly.

"You... you broke into my home."

"If you don't tell I'll…break your wand."

He shrugged, "I can make another."

The woman's expression changed instantly, "you can do that?" she whispered excitedly. He nodded, still confused as to what the woman was doing here.

"I used to live next to a field of imp trees."

The woman nodded, smiling, "I've always wanted to see an imp tree."

"What are you doing here?"

The woman sighed, "well I didn't know you were a wizard until I sensed the wards, I wouldn't steal from a fellow magic user otherwise... but I thought while I'm here... " she trailed off and jumped off his desk.

"Where's my money?" He asked, not truly caring.

"Well this dress wasn't going to pay for itself," she twirled slightly. Indeed, her dress did look beautiful, it had detailed embroidery and was made of shining blue silk.

"And yet you return to my home, the home you have robbed."

"Well I wanted to return that and…well…" she looked up at the roof for a second before shrugging. "Who are you?"

"Nicholas…who are you?" And why are you still in my home?

"Perenelle." She stuck out her hand. He hesitantly took it.

"So…what exactly is that?"

"Why are you still in my home?" he said frustrated.

"You are very handsome."

Nicholas found the flattery slightly numbing, no longer feeling as complemented as he would have a century ago. She handed him back his wand.

"Is it just a paperweight?" she continued to question.

"It makes people immortal."

"I see," she said slowly, before heading back over to his desk leafleting through his papers.

"Who are you?"

"I told you."

"No, what are you doing here?"

The woman shrugged, hopping onto his desk, misplacing more of his notes. He was too tired to care any more rubbing his palms into his eyes.

"I came here from Bristol with my husband. To seek fame and glory!" she laughed to herself, "then he decided I wasn't…worthy anymore." She shrugged again, absentmindedly picking through his notes, smiling sadly.

"My wife is dead."

She looked up again, snapping his notebook shut, "I'm sorry to hear that my lord. What took her?"

"Stubbornness."

The woman hummed. He wished he hadn't brought up Elisabeth. It had been so long he had forgotten what she had even looked like. Only that he'd loved her, completely and utterly.

"Do you truly want to see an imp tree?"

He never thought he'd find himself back here. He hadn't returned to this house since his wife had died. Yet somehow he could still apparate here with no trouble. The ruins of his old home still stood in the centre of the once gardened forest. The forest north west of his house was filled with imp trees in Oak and Ash. He escorted Perenelle past the burned down and crumbling mansion towards said forest.

"My!" She whispered in shock as they looked at the burned house. He turned round and realised she had run into the ruins.

"Perenelle!"

She jumped over a rotting beam, damp from the rain.

"What happened here?" she shouted back, twirling to face him.

"The last owner went crazy and burnt the house down when his wife died, killing everyone inside- so they say."

"I wondered if there's anything to…take."

"Nothing of worth anymore, it happened over a century ago."

"I thought you said you used to live here."

"I did."

"And I believed I had an awful living space." He raised his eyebrows. "Having to live under these," she kicked one of the planks of old wood, scattering soaked slinters.

He sighed, "come now Perenelle," he said exasperatedly, striding forward purposefully. He found that now he was back here he had a strong desire to leave. They finally arrived at the forest, Perenelle skipping ahead to look closely at the nearest tree.

"It doesn't really look that different."

"Not all the tree are imp trees, you have to give it a good kick." He kicked the tree with his heel, "if it is an imp tree, the imps should come out." They looked at the tree for a few more second before heading to the next one. Perenelle started hitting the trees as well with vigour as they moved deep into the forest. Finally, Nicholas found one of the infamous trees, unfortunately for him, the imps were not as tolerant of his behaviour as they had been when he was a child. Disturbed rudely from their slumber, they lunged at him, their small but sharp claws scratching his cloak and hand. He swore loudly, Perenelle rushed to his aid.

"Impedimenta!" she called, freezing both Nicholas and the imps. She brushed them off him, laughing as she did so. "Come on, get up."

He slowly moved, grabbing her hand as he fought against the pressing spell. Finally, they made their way slowly out of the forest.

When he finally shook off the spell on the outskirts of the forest he muttered angrily, "Blasted buggers bit me."

"No they didn't," Perenelle laughed, "there isn't a bite on you."

He gave no comment as they walked back towards the ruins.

"So that's they make out wands out of?"

"Yes, they are made out of fallen branches, well of course you have the core as well."

"What's that?"

He raised his eyebrows again, "Well it is what the middle of your wand is made from…weren't you informed of this when yours was made?"

She twirled her wand in front of her. "I stole it," she smiled slightly like a guilty child.

"Do you steal everything?"

"Not everything, just…most things."

"Why?"

"Because money is very important in this society."

"But what if you get caught?"

Perenelle's grin fell immediately, "then I'll be burnt for crimes," she said quietly, before turning around. Gone was the child like manner as Nicholas watched, mildly curious as Perenelle wandered away with slightly hunched shoulders. She turned on the spot, apparating.

"Until next time," she cried as she disappeared.

"What are you doing today?"

Nicholas jumped, as he did so he felt Perenelle close behind him, which in turn made him leap back at his desk, spilling his potion. A few clean up spells later and Nicholas disposing of his burnt clothes, he sat in his under clothes sipping tea with Perenelle.

"So…what was that?" Perenelle asked finally.

"It was a small experiment of mine, looking at the neutralising of an ethyl complex with elderberries."

"Ah," she sipped her tea, "I'm sorry."

"No worries, I can recreate it later."

Perenelle chuckled, "What?"

"I was just wondering what quite could make you angry."

"Not many things anymore."

"Why? Because of your wife?"

"When you've lived as long as I have…you realise most things are insignificant."

"What, because you are immortal?"

He nodded, watching Perenelle as he sipped his tea, watching her over his cup. She was very beautiful, with pale skin and large brown eyes, her pale lips were full and constantly shaped into a smirk. She tittered at him, brushing invisible crumbs from the same black dress she had been wearing before.

"You can just tell me that the rock is just a pretty rock you found, I won't laugh."

"Stone," he corrected but said nothing else.

"So your wife, if she died, why didn't you make her immortal?"

"She refused to become immortal."

"Ah, stubbornness, I see," she inclined her cup, and drank the entirety of the tea. She once again dusted off her dress and admired his rooms. "This place could certainly be a lot tidier," she muttered.

"You come in here, steal my money and criticise my cleaning ability." He didn't realise how weird their situation was, him drinking tea with his robber.

"I'm not criticising you, I'm…merely trying to be helpful. I could tidy for you, it's the least I could do. Although…I could do…other things."

Nicholas he slowly sipped his tea. "You could pay me back."

"Yeah but that's not as fun."

"And cleanings fun?"

"I wasn't talking about cleaning."

Nicholas sighed, looking at the dregs of his cup. Some wizards believe they could tell the future. Some wizards needed to be drowned at birth.

"Well I guess I need to organise my papers."

She laughed at him before also standing.

"Nicholas! Nich- oh," Xabier stood in the doorway to his flat, looking at the two people crouched on the floor. Nicholas looked out of the window,

"is that really the time already?" He settled down the pieces of papers he'd been collecting together and stood up.

"Umm," Xabier continued to gorm at Perenelle.

"Ah yes," Nicholas said, offering a hand to his lady friend, "this is Perenelle, Perenelle this is Xabier."

She curtseyed, "It is good to meet you my lord."

"Err yes, well…err Nicholas we need to leave."

"Of course," he said bowing at his friend, collecting his scarf off the floor.

"Where are you going?"

"To the circle."

"Ooh, the circle, can I come?"

"Well anyone can, I'm speaking."

"Ooh!"

The meeting was the same futile nonsense as before, the only excitement coming from Perenelle's constant questioning behind him, yet even Nicholas had to reprimand her when it was his turn to speak.

"So what exactly do they wish to do?"

"They wish to make a selectable council similar to the parliament that the muggles have."

"But why?"

"Because they want to rule the wizarding world themselves," he huffed, straightening his jacket.

"Well demand them and their selfish ways!" Perenelle giggled slightly. (I'm not sure what you're wanting to say here)

"Are you mocking me?"

"Politics was never my thing."

"Well of course not, you are a woman."

She tittered, "for all you know I could be the daughter of a country ruling politician, or my husband for that matter."

"Is he?" Nicholas asked a little too quickly.

"Why?" she chuckled, "no, he was not."

"Was?"

"Yes."

"What happened to him?"

"What does the stone do?"

"I've told you, it makes you-" before he could finish, Perenelle had flung her arms over his shoulder and kissed him. She pressed hard against the back of his head, urgently delving her tongue into his mouth, Keely,(Keely?) the action begging for something he was too stoic to give. Nicholas replied in weight but refused to match her enthusiasm as she buried her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, melding herself against his body. She finally, reluctantly pulled away, her eyes searching him with adoration. He said nothing, gently pulling her still gripping hands from his scalp.

"Well?" she said breathlessly, licking her shining lips, "say something."

He started to walk further into his home, sitting himself down in the nest of papers he had made himself.

"What is there to say?" he said, not looking at her, instead busying himself with his papers.

"I…well I just kissed you…you…say something!" Her voice faltered and broken as she blurted out her emotion filled stutters. He looked up. She was bent forward slightly as if his coldness was causing her physical pain, her face red, her eyes bulging. Her black hair had been untied from her usual ponytail and was strewn over her face, clinging to her cheeks. She looked human, the definition of unbridled emotions Nicholas could no longer feel. He should pity the girl, this homeless thief that had taken such any interest in him.

"Do you wish to do it again?" he asked, looking back down at the paper, placing it delicately on a pile to his left before turning back to her. Her eyes were flicking around the room, her mouth hanging open. His dismissive question had clearly hurt her more, but he did nothing while waiting for her answer.

"I…. of course."

"Then perhaps you should start helping me and you may get to."

This was such an odd predicament. Nicholas pondered upon it as Perenelle moaned above him, seemingly needing no assistance from him except to lie still. This girl, a child to him, seemed, for lack of a better word, obsessed. If he had to guess, she needed to hide, she was running from what had happened to her husband. But why steal from him first? Perhaps the girl wasn't as clever as he was giving her credit for. Perenelle had stopped moving, leaning over him, panting, smelling like sweat and sex. She was still moaning a low passion driven gasp as she licked her way up his neck.

"Why me?" he asked before she reached his mouth. She drew away, leaving a cold trail of saliva, making Nicholas' hair stand on end.

"I love you," she gasped. Good lord she was a child. He rolled his eyes. "Am I doing something wrong?" she asked timidly, too shy for the situation she had put them in.

"No, I spent a lot in France, in that time I indulged in the more undignified of human urges, you'll have to forgive me for I seem to have become accustomed."

"So you're asking me to act like a French whore?"

Nicholas laughed, shaking his head in disbelief, "No, never, I'm merely saying I don't feel the urges quite as much as you."

"How much time did you spend there?"

"Nearly fifty years."

She sighed before rolling onto her side, wrapping herself around him. He once was surprised by the woman's boldness but didn't say anything and turned over.

"What are we working on today?"

Perenelle had kept a safe distance from him this time, as Nicholas jumped slightly.

"The same thing I was working on before."

"An yes…sorry."

"Well perhaps you could continue…with papers."

She obeyed. It was the same routine for months they followed. To Nicholas it only felt like days, the changing of the season nothing more than a forgotten nuisance to him.

"Will you ever tell me what happened between you and your husband?"

Perenelle raised an eyebrow, "He…was a merchant and a muggle. When we came to London, oh, he was so excited, we both were. But…when I told him I was a witch, he…" she was shaking, "he…" She looked disgusted by the words rising up her throat. "I never had a wand and I had to get one after that."

There was silent after that, Perenelle was biting her lip, looking at the carpet of the small flat unseeing, her mind in memories she'd surely wish to forget.

"I killed him. Slit his throat. He bled out of top of me. I'd never felt happier, just feeling…. his blood leave him." She whipped her head round to face Nicholas, realising what she had just said and began to get up in horror of what she had said.

"When my wife died, I felt like I had to died too. We hadn't spoken in years you see. But when she died…I had to join her. I set my own house on fire, her friends and her doctor still inside. All I did was watch them as they…ran around like rats screaming, burning. Have you ever seen someone burn?"

Perenelle shook her head, her eyes transfixed on Nicholas.

"The fire isn't what kills you, it's the fumes, but I got to watch them melt, burn to the bone. I envied them…I couldn't join them." He too stared at the carpet, remembering the fire surrounding him, refusing to take him. He was drawn out of his thoughts by Perenelle straddling his lap and kissing his deeply. It should have disgusted him how she was aroused by death, yet he did nothing as he carried the panting, clawing woman to the bedroom.

She was going to die. Nicholas sat up in bed, staring the dark wall in front of him. He had watched everyone around him die but not since his wife had he felt his scared. He looked down at the strange woman.

"I love you too." He gathered her up his arms, feeling his cold sweat warm against the skin. "Please…don't be like her." She stirred in his arms, humming as she turned.

"We work as a unit, as one! The system you want would only lead to bias."

"A bias for the greater good of wizard kind!"

Nicholas kicked the door of his home, startling Perenelle.

"Dear, what's wrong?" she said standing, Nicholas ignored her as Xabier continuing to talk.

"We are gaining more followers slowly, we'll be able to be them soon."

"Too slowly, and it isn't about followers! That's exactly the system we're trying to fight!" He glared at his young friend who stumbled over his words.

"Just get out!"

Xabier scurried away as Nicholas turned to Perenelle, "For once I wish time would speed up so those stupid pigs would die."

Perenelle looked at the stone and sighed, "Come on, I have something that might cheer you up," she strode into the bed. Nicholas sat down in his chair, sighing at Perenelle's simplicity but stopped abruptly as she returned from the bedroom carrying a full purse.

"What is this?"

"It's your money," she grinned as she knelt in front of him.

He looked down at the bag and then at her face.

"You…did you steal this?"

"No! I earned it!" she tittered at his suggestion, but he held her face as she tried to turn away.

"How?"

She licked her lips and smiled brightly, "I swear you haven't aged a day since I met you."

He sighed, dropping his hand and taking the bag, "Of course I haven't, I'm immortal."

Perenelle looked at the stone sitting on his mantle place, "It really does make you immortal," she whispered.

Nicholas leaned forward, heart beating fast, please don't let this fail again."If you want, I can make you immortal too."

She slowly smiled, "As long…I want to see the world."

"Of course, anything." As long as I don't need to be alone anymore. They left England that night, a note left for Xabier on his door. He knew the young man would perhaps be upset, but it held no matter to him. The circle would also be able to do as they pleased to his country. But none of it mattered and he would come back one day, he had all the time in the world until then.


	4. Chapter 4

"Hold still darling."

Nicholas didn't know why Perenelle needed to say this, he had held still for three millennia, mere existence now felt like holding still as everyone sped past him. Well mostly everyone. He looked at the woman beside him disapprovingly. Perenelle had taken immortality in her stride, wearing the finest that could be bought or stolen. Her hair was finely curled, something that had taken seven hours out of her day to achieve, but it mattered no longer, time was irrelevant. Her thin face was smothered by makeup, gloating symbol of what she could afford instead for beauty, a good thing too given how awful the thick coating looked.

"I said hold still."

He looked back at the painter, sketching a brief outline of him. But Nicholas supposed the immortal could not be picky. She had persuaded him into having their picture painted in Italy where they had been staying for the last two years. Nicholas had taken her all around Europe and further. That had been a mistake, but Perenelle had taken it all in her stride, murdering her way across the new world.

"What does it matter?" she had said, "they're going to die anyway."

Nicholas couldn't be bother to act horrified at her brash actions.

"What exactly are we meant to do with a painting?"

"Take it home, silly." She turned to him, "I think it's time we returned to England."

Nicholas didn't care where they went next, if she wanted it to be England then so be it. So instead he said, "hold still darling."

She laughed at him, leaning over to kiss his cheek. Nicholas would have scoffed at the idea Perenelle controlled his life, he merely no longer felt any need to do anything. She cared enough to travel, to move in her day and Nicholas merely followed. The artist stayed long into the night until he apologised profusely for needing sleep. Perenelle thanked the man, though ninety years on this earth had done nothing for her language skills, as she thanked the Italian man in French.

"Merci, merci." She shut the door as she waved the man down of their stately home. The house was three storeys of white stone, mockingly crafted into faux pillars. Each of its rooms was laden in almost identical lush red carpets and golden laced curtains that flutter whenever the balconies were open. It made the place hard to navigate but this was hardly an issue for Nicholas who stuck to his corner of the mansion. yet Perenelle was making it harder for him to stay shut off from the world, as she usually did when she started to tire of a place.

"Tomorrow I'll need you to join me in the guest drawing room-"

"And which one is that?" Perenelle's eyes crinkled warmly as she smiled, amused at his indifference.

"Second floor, third door on the left."

He bowed slightly in thanks, hands clasped behind his back. She chuckled at him now, still seeming to find unending amusement in his coldness. Well she was still young. He followed her up the stairs, their shoes clicking loudly on the hard marble. Nicholas felt he should at some point ask Perenelle what exactly paid for this house, but frankly the answer wouldn't surprise him so saw no need to find it out.

"And who exactly are we meeting tomorrow?"

"Erm, a young alchemist...about the stone."

Nicholas almost skid on the last step to the top floor as he came to a sudden halt. The squeaking sound of his foot sliding on the floor echoed through the corridors and down the stairs as Nicholas replayed the last word Perenelle had said over in his head wondering if there was anyway of mishearing it. He put his hand on his pocket before joining his wife on the top stair. Perenelle looked like a guilty child; biting her lip and half smiling. He had to give the woman credit if anything could provoke an emotion out of him it would be her.

"My...why?"

"Well," she leaned forward grabbing his hand and started moving them towards the bedroom as Nicholas remained stiff, "what do you know about the stone?"

He shook his hair back in disgrace, "it stops the aging and degrading of bone marrow and the cycle of white blood cell development stopping us from-"

"Yes that's all fine and dandy but what else can it do?"

"W-what more do you want it to do?"

"Well does it just work the same on animals? Plants? How about metals? You say it stops the degrading of marrows and blood but how does that stop us from aging?"

He had once, a long time ago, pondered over it, but he was a chemist not a biologist. They had made their way into their bedroom and Perenelle had let go of Nicholas' hand to close the door, the absence of her warmth of the thing makes Nicholas snap out of his shock and start to get ready to sleep. Like the rest of the rooms, this one had lush carpets though was absent of a set of curtains given there were no windows. The four poster bed with gold painted poles and red wood stood proudly in the centre of the room. Perenelle had been very persistent when buying a bed, pleading with Nicholas to let her have it, despite Nicholas putting up no fight.

"I was talking about this with a couple of my friends about it and they said-"

"People know about the stone?" he asked, as he set the item in question down on the headboard of the bed, giving it small tap before turning to face Perenelle.

"Of course," she said, tittering as she ungracefully stepped out of her dress, piling the clothes on the floor before sliding into the covers, "it is a very good icebreaker."

Nicholas didn't know what was worse, the fact that there were those who knew of the stone, or that no one had tried to steal the best creation bestowed upon the earth.

"And she said her husband knew a very...open minded alchemist. I merely set an appointment for us to meet him tomorrow."

Nicholas looked at her before sniffing indignantly and got into bed. It would have been nice to have been told about this person coming to visit, about his stone no less... but it would be nice for once, for his work to be appreciated.

He was alone when he awoke, he usually had Perenelle staying around if she wanted something. He sighed, getting out of the bed and began to get dressed. Once he had, he pressed the stone into his pocket, squeezing it once, as if to make sure it was truly there. It was still dark in their room given the lack of windows, so when he dressed himself and stepped out of their rooms he was sudden blinded by the light. He squinted for through shining beams of light and strode forward. He searched throughout the huge house for Perenelle until he found her cantering around the garden, it too was filled with red; red wild flowers and roses smothered any blades of grass, Perenelle making her chestnut stallion stamp the prickled flowers into make shift pathway. Nicholas understood the need to release her boredom on something, but did it have to be a horse? She cried each time one died and they died a lot. He started walking on the pressed flowers towards her, the warm breeze brushing the soft flower heads against his skin. Seeing him, Perenelle slowed to a trot and smiled back at him.

"Good to see you're awake," she said once she was beside him.

Nicholas ignored her pleasantries, "When is the alchemist coming?"

Perenelle smiled slightly, before pushing her horse past Nicholas making him step into the prickling flowers.

"He'll be arriving at four, I trust you can find your way to the guest drawing room."

He nodded and bowed slightly, but Perenelle had already started riding away.

The alchemist was young. Too young to have any area of expertise in what Nicholas had created. He was short and thin with a weak chin and slouching narrow shoulders. He had his hair tucked under the back of his tunic which was splattered with a multicolour of different substances, it was even burned into where more harmful substance had hit him. While it may show his determination in potions, Nicholas could only think at how careless someone had to be to spill so much. The young child looked up meekly at Nicholas, biting his lip. All in all, Nicholas found himself practically insulted by the boy's presence.

The boy bowed, "You must be Lord Flamel," the boy said in English slowly and with a thick Italian accent. Perenelle behind him closed the door of the drawing room where Nicholas was sat. Nicholas nodded, despite never having told anyone in seventy years he was a Lord, but frankly he hadn't spoken to anyone except for Perenelle for twenty years.

"My name is Ottone Ungaretti." He bowed and stood by the seat opposite Nicholas where Perenelle had gestured at, "I am here to help you examine this...pebble."

"Stone."

Perenelle was barely finding her smirk at how angry Nicholas sounded.

"And of course, I knew that is why you are here, or else I'd wonder why my wife had even let you into this house," Nicholas snapped, but clearly the words had been spoken too fast for the boy to understand as he looked confused for a second, before giving up translating the words in his head and reached down to pick up the large bulging bag he had come in with. Out of it he first pulled a small cauldron. Nicholas pressed the stone into his leg, he wasn't about to allow any chance for his creation to be destroyed.

"Now, where is it?" the boy said, clapping his hand, Nicholas pushed it further into his pocket.

"Darling give him the stone, he was destroying it...correct?"

"No of course not, I will leave no scratch on it."

Nicholas was about to say something, that, if the young boy understood would lead to a duel, or maybe the child would just go home crying.

But before he could, the boy said, "Please, from what I've heard, well...I would be honoured just to see it."

Nicholas sighed and lifted the stone from his pocket and laid it on the table where the red stone shimmered in the evening light. The boy reached across to take it but Nicholas slammed his hand down, making the boy flinch as if burnt.

"Not a scratch you understand." He lifted his hand away and boy slowly picked it up, cradling it in his hands as Nicholas did. He concluded it was fine to be appreciated. As the boy carefully handled the stone as he placed it in the water of the cauldron. Sure enough as it always had the stone leaked the silver pus that floated to the top to shimmer with water. The boy gathered it into a vial before handing the wet and still slightly oozing stone back to Nicholas. He wrapped a handkerchief around it and squeezed it firmly. The boy then set about working, dropping the silver liquid into each vial he had set out in front of him and observed them in silent. Perenelle looked at Nicholas shifting in her seat, but Nicholas refused to make eye contact, staring at the flasks. He should know what the colour changes were. But he didn't. For all the years of alchemy and he had forgotten basic reactions of his own creation. Although it had been years, millennia's even, since he had last even worked anywhere near a potion, since then he found no need to leave his bed or even get into bed. He supposed he had been getting better, returning to England was a good step, finally having a purpose again, but Perenelle, while giving him a purpose, granted one that could be fun meant most of his days were spent neglecting his intellect. He felt momentarily worried before remembering, he was immortal. He didn't have to do this now, perhaps in another century. He leaned back, absentmindedly staring at the celling, it was smoothly plastered over but he knew if he waited long enough it would rot away.

"This…" Nicholas looked back at the boy, "you made this?" The boy looked appalled, astounded at the idea.

Nicholas felt insulted, "Of course, around three millennia ago."

"If…you're telling the truth aren't you?"

This boy's insult held no bounds, Nicholas nodded. The boy rose gesturing wildly at the stone.

"This is genius, this er...what exactly is your...profession?" A God amongst men to watch over their petty lives.

"He's a philosopher," Perenelle answered for him as if sensing the idea floating around in his wisdom filled head.

"This philosopher stone," the young man announced proudly. He drew himself on the chair finding himself once again surprised at the woman provoking emotions in him, if it was only dishonour. This was the greatest discovery of mankind, and the creator, not the creator's wife should have a little more say in its name to be remember throughout the ages.

"What exactly does it do?" Perenelle asked, laying her hand on the boy's knee. He stuttered for a moment giving Nicholas a fleeting look, but he was stroking the stone.

"Well…that's a difficult question." The boy swirled the nearest vial of gold liquid, "this was metal…it's not gold…you've done what alchemist have been trying to achieve for years."

"What does that mean though?" Perenelle asked quickly, leaning forward. Of course she would jump at the idea of not needing to steal money.

"Well, this…substance, seems to rid impurities, it appears to be volatile enough to even stabilise itself within its product."

"So…"

"It will keep the pure state, or in your case, your young body, indefinitely…forever."

"It could do this…with everything?"

"Possibly, I'd have to do more tests," he tried to take the stone from Nicholas, who moved it swiftly away. "Nicholas," Perenelle warned, as if he was the child.

"Please, I just need to take another sample."

Nicholas slowly moved the stone across the table.

"This is so awesome!" Perenelle cried when the boy finally left, grabbing Nicholas' shoulders jumping up and down.

"Well we already know the most important feature of the stone."

"The Philosopher stone," she implored. He ignored her and drew his wand to light the candles in the dark and drafty house.

"Think about all the good we could do."

Her excited statement almost made him stumble. "Didn't take you for someone who wanted to do good."

"Of course I do. I might want money as well, but…think about it, we could wipe out illness, food would never rot, water could be clean for everyone."

He refused to say anything as he travelled up to his study, needing to be away from the world after having to socialise.

"And how exactly do we achieve that?"

"Well, by making more."

He clenched the wand in his hand.

"I don't…remember how to."

"So? I'm sure he can make more, or someone else."

No else could make his stone. It was his stone. How could she even entertain the thought?

"But this is my stone."

"So? The world would be ours."

"No else can make my stone."

Perenelle scoffed and Nicholas turned quickly, his hair whipping his face, "you're not the only person-"

"don't." He held his wand at her chest, she merely smirked. Of course, how could he threaten another immortal. He swiftly turned and strode up the upstairs to his study. It was cluttered with sheets of teared and crumbling paper from years gone by that was stacked high so the red carpet underneath could not be seen through the yellowing paper. He made his way to his desk knocking over one of the two remaining stacks as he did so. It too was littered with papers, sodden with ink and scrawls. None of them would make sense to anyone else, slanted and rushed, written on overlapping pieces of papers making a jigsaw of his thoughts. No one with his intelligence, but even he sometimes couldn't understand what he had written immediately. But he didn't need to yet. He picked up his quill and immediately started dotting the closest piece of space with scribbled shapes and lines. Harsher and sporadic than his usual writing. He continued moving the quill wondering why the lines looked so harsh as his hand continued to move until he realised; he was angry. It caught him by surprise having not felt angry in so long, it felt refreshing and exhausting. He could feel his hands shaking with rage, his heart pounding against his chest as he fidgeted with restlessness. Perenelle shouldn't have questioned him. He was the only one who could create the stone, and even if such a miracle occurred that someone else could mimic his creation they shouldn't, it was his stone. No one else should be near it, or even have its effects. He should have let Perenelle die, just like everyone else around him did. He wouldn't be in this situation. While it was nice to know what his creation did, though none of which he saw a point to, if Perenelle and the boy wanted to do anything with his stone. No. It was his. Only he could make it and only he could keep it to himself.

When Perenelle next came to his office door she told him a week had passed. To Nicholas it had felt like nothing as he had stayed in his office, the stone in his left hand as he wrote with his right.

"Ran out of paper again?"

He paused in his scrawls on the wall to give her a look before returning to the wall.

"Ottone has returned, he wishes to talk to you."

"Who?"

"Ottone Ungaretti. The alchemist?"

"Oh that child."

"That's one way of looking at it." She said laughing, "Nicolas, come out of there and see him."

Nicholas stepped away from the wall and looked at the stone, feeling a conundrum rising. If the boy wanted the stone to use as Perenelle suggested, he should probably leave the stone but he hadn't left the stone after the incident with Perenelle. He put it firmly in his back pocket before heading up the stairs with Perenelle. Perenelle led him to one of their many identical rooms on the top, he imagined that she had only brought the boy up here to show how many rooms they had.

"Lord Flamel," the boy bowed, Nicholas standing stiff in the doorway. "I have exciting news," he added breathlessly when Nicholas said nothing. Slowly he walked towards the balcony to join the boy.

"It's a beautiful view you have," the boy commented. A view that was only fleetingly going to be beautiful before being ravened by time.

"What exactly have you got to tell me?" he said coldly, wishing to return to his room, rather than being surrounded by the soon to be dead.

"Ah yes, well I would like to say once more what a marvellous creation you have…created. Truly marvellous. I have been studying the effect on a wider range of substances and the effect are more or less conclusive of its purifying as well and its longevity. I'll be able to do more onto living test subjects, but of course," the boy chuckled, "you stand as living proof. So now…if at all possible, I would like to talk about the application."

So he did want to use it like Perenelle did.

"I believe this could revolutionise medicine. Of course it is understandable if you wish not to advocate its immortality side, that is understandable. However, if we made another of this, we could implement it as a cleaner of wound, maybe even to fuse broken limbs perhaps."

"But that…would require the stone being constantly harvested."

"Well if you do not wish that to happen, I'm sure another could be created."

"I can't remember what to do to recreate it."

"Well, looking at the compound it would be very simple to recreate."

"Simple?"

"Well of course a-at the time of course it h-have been-"

"Simple!"

The boy didn't have time to stutter out another excuse before Nicholas pushed him. The boy stumbled backwards, his legs hit the wall of the balcony. He gave Nicholas one look of fear before toppling over the balcony. Nicholas studied the sky for a second waiting for the terrified screams to stop and the crack of bones filled the air. He moved towards the balcony edge and looked down. Yes, he was definitely dead; lucky.

"What happened?"

He couldn't open his mouth before Perenelle was at his side and screaming. He turned to look at her, leaning on the balcony. Her hands covered her face did nothing to muffle her cries, Nicholas just waited for her to stop. She had moved to one of the chairs in the room to sob after fifteen minutes and stopped crying after two hours. He moved to the chair opposite her. She looked up at him, eyes bulging and started crying again.

"He…he…you murdered him."

"You murdered your husband."

"But…" she fell back into shaking sobs. Nicholas observed, feeling much more peacefully and comforted now his angry had dissipated. "Why?" She screamed as she choked her sobs.

"Why?" he got up, leaning over Perenelle, who leaned backwards, "Because no one is taking that stone away from me. The greatest creation of all time is mine, and if I can't create it, no one can."

"He had his life…all of it to look forward to."

"No he had death to look forward to. All of them do!"

Perenelle pushed past him.

"And where are you going?"

"Away from you."

He laughed, "how can you do that? In the end, we will be all that's left."

She refused to turn back to face him.

"Do you truly think we'll live forever?" she finally whispered through her tears.

"Of course."

She said nothing, only nodding sharply. She did this several times before she moved, swiftly moving to the door and slamming it behind her. Once he heard her close the front door he wandered back to his office, picking the stone out of his pocket. She finally got the catch.


	5. Chapter 5

"Darling we should go."

Nicholas sighed, standing up from the grave. Another graveyard, another failure.

"Come on darling, it's getting cold." Nicholas ignored her as he crossed off another graveyard on the map of England. They'd spent the last seventy years travelling through the cities and counties trying to find Xabier's grave. While he wasn't incompetent enough to believe he would still be alive after two centuries, he was still surprised the young boy wasn't here to organise his schedule. And he couldn't even pay his respects to him.

"When are you going to stop looking?"

Nicholas sighed and glared over his shoulder at Perenelle. She looked worse for wear as he had been dragging her round the countries, refusing to stay in one place for more than a week, searching every nook and cranny of the tiny island. They were now back in London though their home was nothing as they had left it; the streets more crowded, smothered by shit and rotting meat. This place was dying and they were here to watch.

"I mean we should stop looking, it's been over a hundred years. Maybe we should settle down?"

"Never took you for a settling down type," he muttered as he crossed another graveyard,

"Time changes people."

He smirked, it had taken her five years to forgive him forgive him the young alchemist, a few seconds to Nicholas,

"Maybe somewhere near here."

"Nicholas' smirk vanished and frowned at Perenelle, turning to her,

"Why here?"

"It's loud and busy."

Nicholas shook his head, "Fine, you can stay here and I'll continue searching."

"Nicholas," she sighed, "You won't find him."

Nicholas chuckled, "We'll see."

 

He slammed the door hard behind him. Every graveyard in England and nothing! He screamed slamming his hard into the closest wall, white hot pain travelling through his hand as something crack. He cried out again in rage, never having felt this angry since his wife had died. Her too he had been unable to bury her, but that was because there was no body to bury. It made him wonder what happened to his young helper. A piercingly sharp punched hit him in the back, muscle tearing. He looked down to see a thin long sword through his chest. It was ripped from his body and he stumbled backwards onto the floor, the sound of his skull slamming against the stone, ringing in his ears.

"Oh shit! Nicholas!"

He grunted feeling the blood leak from his body. He wondered if he had been wrong all these and they could die. He hoped he was wrong. But he was never wrong.

"Good Lord Nicholas…I thought you were never coming back."

"Of course I would eventually."

Perenelle helped him up and slapped his across the face.

"Ten years Nicholas! Not a word."

"I was busy." He said through gritted teeth as he pulled down his jacket.

"Looking at graves meant you couldn't write for ten years,"

"Glad to see you missed me. You chose a nice house."

He started walking towards the stairs, Perenelle making angry tittering noises behind him.

"Yes well, when you have infinite gold anything's possible."

Perenelle didn't have infinite gold, just more than most, given Nicholas still had the stone constantly on his person, now making full use of its properties.

"I also found your precious Circle."

"Really?" he shouted down from the top of the stairs.

"Yes but its no- third door on the left if you're looking for the bedroom,"

"I see."

Perenelle started climbing the grey stone steps as well, holding her dress up as she ran, "It's no longer called the Circle, it the Ministry of Magic now,"

"How delightful," he drawled as he entered the bedroom. Perenelle had once again tried to have a red theme around the house, however with limited resources she had settled on having a maroon sheeted bed and compensating for the lack of carpet and curtains with red wild flowers. He surveyed the room once with slight curiosity before he started to undress.

"Er I'd also like to ask something of you."

He fell down naked on the bed exhausted from his non-stop trip.

"I want a child."

He groaned, he was too tired for this,

"You truly want to subject a child to this."

"Well…maybe we could give our child a choice,"

"And you could live with your child dying before you."

She sighed, brushing her fingers through her hair, "You've been gone for ten years,"

"You've said that already.

 

It was odd waking up with Perenelle clinging on to him. For the first five minutes he lay immobile under Perenelle's weight, his legs aching from his constant walking. Finally, he tried to move but Perenelle dug her fingernails into his chest.

"Nicholas, I've been alone for ten years." She whispered,

Nicholas ignored her, praying she wouldn't bring up children again.

"And if you disappear again I'll have no one."

"And a child would help that?"

Perenelle groaned and got out of bed marching round to his side.

"Nicholas I…respect you and…oh fuck it! I hate you Nicholas! Ever since you did this to me, I've stopped living!"

Did she expect this to hurt him?

"I want to have someone here, someone who I can talk to."

"A baby?"

"They won't be a baby for long."

She swiftly turned round her hands over her face.

"I always wanted a child, can you not give me this?"

His wife had always wanted a child, but Nicholas had never liked the idea of a child getting in the way of his work. He'd given into her wishes, his beautiful… he sat bolt upright. What was his wife's name? He got out of the bed. No, no, no. what was it? He had loved her since the moment they met, had been married to her for fifty years. What was her name? he stumbled on to the stairs, leaning over the side.

"Nicholas?"

What was his son's name?

"I'll…do it…fine…happy now!?"

The next five years were exhausting, constant exhausted unneeded sex to keep Perenelle happy, the rest of his time spent in his office, playing with the stone and scrawling on his papers. Finally, she fell pregnant, though this did not end his suffering, having to listen to her constant demands. He tried to re-join the circle, however the 'come one come all' had completely disappeared, leaving a fascist hierarchy that had been tainted by money. He'd returned home spending two weeks locked away after that, wishing even more he had been able to finding Xabier's grave.

"I'm sorry, but we couldn't save your wife,"

"Oh no," Nicholas said, rolling his eyes, he spluttered quickly afterwards, realising he had to act upset to the doctor and the nuns, "God I can't believe it."

"She is in a better place." The nun beside the doctor stroking the cross the on her necklace. Nicholas nodded, wondering how long they had until Perenelle woke up again.

"But the baby," The doctor handed the bundle in his hand to Nicholas. He slowly pulled apart the cloth to the tiny sleeping baby. It had a slightly pruned face and pudgy cheeks. It started to mumble as a felt the cold air and tried to stretch out its weak arms.

"He's a boy."

His son opened his eyes to stare at his father.

"Indeed," he said quietly, entranced by the curious eyes, searching his, the arms still pushing against the linen. Nicholas dragged his eyes away from his son, snapping back into reality when he looked at the lingering doctor and nuns.

"Please I would like some time to myself."

"Of course," the doctor said looking at the floor, the nuns bowing, heading towards the door as the doctor lingered, "however unfortunate this is there is still the matter of the-"

"Yes here's your money." Nicholas snapped, throwing the man a bag of gold, holding the tiny baby in his hand and headed into the bedroom. Perenelle was definitely still dead. The room was humid with blood and the scent of disgusting bodily fluid. Her arms laid out limp on either side of the bed, her greasy hair clinging to her forehead. Her eyes were half closed staring blankly ahead. Nicholas sat down beside her, gently rocking his son. The red covers disguised the patch of blood that was seeping from Perenelle's legs, however he assumed underneath the covers were stained black with the amount of blood she must have lost. This could take a while. The baby started to coo.

"Shh, it's alright," he whispered, looking down at the small baby again. His face became scrunched up as he started to cry, "don't worry, she'll wake soon."

He rocked the baby firmer until he stopped crying and just babbled, trying to wrestle his away out of the blanket. He was a strong baby, perhaps- given both his parents were immortal- he too was strong enough live forever. Nicholas could work out if that was a bad thing or not. He turned back to his wife, stroking her ice cold wrist,

"Come on Perenelle, your son's waiting for you."


	6. Chapter 6

"Nicholas?"

"Hmm?" he yawned, sitting up straighter as Perenelle too tried to sit up. She grunted fell back on the bed,

"Here," he clamped one hand to her arms and pulled her up,

"Thanks," she said bitterly stroking her arm, but she soon forgot her pain, staring at the cooing baby,

"Is-" she reached across snatching the child, pulling the cloth down so their son's arms and chest stuck out, "H-hello," she whispered, holding the child close to her,

"It's a boy,"

She kissed his head, the child reaching his arms out to grab onto her nose,

"Hello," she repeated, "So what should we call him?"

"Your choice." Truly he wanted to name him, name him after his first son. However, that would require for him to remember his son's name.

"Noah, hmm?" she bounced the baby on her lap, before wincing in pain.

"Noah is a fine name."

 

Nicholas hated being wrong. He had been so sure that Noah would have been immortal like his parents, it was logical. He was older than Nicholas' first son had ever been. Noah was nearly four, an excitable, curious wobbly blob. It was obvious that something was eventually going to happen. Nicholas had been in his office when he had heard the cries. The screaming sobs of his son.

"Noah!"

"Noah!"

Perenelle had heard them as well as they nearly crashed into one another. Their son continued to cry as they untangle the themselves.

"Go!" he cried, pushing her forward. Perenelle barely stumbled as she ran ahead, her dress ripping as she did so. Nicholas followed close behind as the sound of their son's screams became louder and more desperate. Please, not another one, not yet. There so much blood, splattered carelessly on the last three steps of the stairs. On the last one, lay their son, facing away from them.

"Noah!" Perenelle ran down the stairs, Nicholas remaining paralysed. If he stayed there, if he merely didn't acknowledge his dying son, then he could pretend like this never happened.

"Oh God, my son!" Perenelle was crying too now, trying to pick up Noah, who cried adamantly as she did so.

"Nicholas!" he closed his eyes, this wasn't happening, "Nicholas please!"

He opened his eyes, her hands were now blood covered as well. She had slung Noah over her shoulder and Nicholas could now see the source of the problem. Their son had broken him arm. Badly. The sharp bone had cracked through the skin and was peeking out of the flesh squirting blood wildly, it pattering to the floor like rain.

"NICHOLAS!"

"Right, got it!" he didn't. he had no idea want to do, if he could do anything.

"The door! The door!" he ran ahead, opening the door for his screaming wife. She ran out in front of him, leaping off to who knew where. All Nicholas was sprint behind her, his heart thumping against his chest. He couldn't lose his son.

"Your son is a strong boy. God himself was looking down upon your son."

Or he had immortal blood, Nicholas though, nodding at the priest. Perenelle had taken him to the nearest church, something Nicholas didn't think would still be a thing. He also had thought they would have move on from the flawed method of cutting off whatever allied a person. Noah was sleeping having passed out from the pain, lying on a straw mattress surrounded by lepers and the dying. Nicholas had his hand laid on Noah's stomach, keeping an eye on his heavy breathing while Perenelle stroked Noah's hair.

"Thank you," Perenelle whispered looking down at Noah. But the priest lingered,

"I've never seen you in my church before."

"No," Perenelle began before Nicholas could begin to think up a lie, "we were passing through when he was struck by a horse,"

"Dreadful," the man shook his head, before laying a hand on top of Perenelle's head, "you can stay here until he wakes. Maybe God be with you, child." He moved his hand onto Nicholas' head, who was less tolerant of the action but allowed the priest to say his words and walk away. The church grew cold quickly as night drew closer and Noah still hadn't woken. Nicholas couldn't stop staring at the small bloodied stump that had once been an arm. He kept expecting it to grow back, getting excited at flickers of light that changed its length. Suddenly it shifted, he perked up, staring at it intently. It shifted again, it had to be growing. Yes! He didn't have to watch his son die; it was moving adamantly now.

"Papa?" the arm shifted as his son tried to sit up.

"Sweetie I have you." Perenelle helped the young boy up. The first thing he did was looking at his arm. He started whimpering slightly but it soon turned into full scale sobs of horror at his lack of an arm,

"Mama! Mama! M-my arm!" he screamed as he burrowed into his mother behind him.

"I know darling, I know. Shh, it's okay, it's okay."

Nicholas said nothing, still staring at the stump. It still hadn't grown back.

 

"what does it mean father?" Noah said excitedly, spinning on the spot. Nicholas stared down at the letter again,

"Well from what I can tell…it means there's a magical school,"

"You didn't go to Hogwarts?"

Nicholas shook his head,

Perenelle scoffed, "sometimes I forget how old you are."

Nicholas cuffed her, giving a meaningful look at their son who was still giggling madly.

"Can I go?" he asked, turning to his parents wide eyed.

Perenelle knelt down beside their son, "Of course Noah, we'll buy these things next week,"

"Are we sure this is a good idea?"

"Of course, Hogwarts is wonderful." He looked at Noah, pouring over the letters. If it was anything to do with teaching his son, he should be fine with it.

"Oh there's my little baby!"

Noah wobbled dangerously on his feet at the bottom of the stairs, a portkey in hand. His luggage landed behind a moment later. Perenelle rushed to greet him,

"How was your year?"

"Wonderful mama!" Nicholas took the rusting necklace from his son, studying it. He had once had been able to make portkeys with his eyes closed, now the spell seemed foreign to him. He felt that way about a lot of things he had once known.

"Oh it's good to hear you are making friends!" Perenelle was saying carrying Noah as if he was still a baby, "What house did you get into?"

"Ravenclaw. All my friends are from Ravenclaw."

"Aww, I was in Slytherin."

"I don't like Slytherin." He mumbled,

"Oh? Why is that?"

"I don't like snakes."

"Why? Is it because they like to tickle people?"

"Snakes don't tickle people," it took Noah an extra second to catch on, trying to wriggle out of his mother's arms as she started to tickle him. Nicholas watched them, his heart panging with loniness he was yet to feel, Perenelle would one day remember this with agonising sadness and then it would be lost forever. His son, finally free from his mother's grasp, hid behind his father. Nicholas smiled down at him, realising he would have to feel that too.

"Why don't you take your clothes upstairs?"

Noah panted for a while before he began the struggle of one handedly taking his chest upstairs.

"Perenelle," he whispered, "may we talk?"

Perenelle sighed looking between Noah and Nicholas, obviously having worked out what he wanted.

"Certainly Nicholas,"

They made their way into the kitchen and once Perenelle had shut the door Nicholas blurted out,

"We need to tell him about the stone."

"I know," she said quietly, sitting down, "just…not yet,"

"Why not?"

"He's too young to make a decision like that, not yet, just…" she put her face over her face, "give me time."

 

Time, as it transpired was five years. Nicholas knew why she had taken so long. She was afraid he would say no. in truth Nicholas was afraid of that too but it wouldn't be on his head if he did say no. Noah had taken it as expected, with disbelief. It took them a further two years to convince him they were telling the truth, that entailing Nicholas stabbing himself.

"I just…" Noah trailed off, "how old are you exactly?"

Nicholas paused in his scribbled on his office walls and looked down at his adult son sitting defeated on the floor, "Exactly no idea, but I'm around five centuries old, your mother's around three centuries old."

"Wow that's…wow. It explains a lot."

"Like what?"

"Well just how out of touch you two are, the strange things you do, you are writing on a wall for God sake."

"I know, it's what I intended to do."

Noah shook his head, smiling, "if I did say no, you would miss me?"

"Of course, but not for long."

"Thank you father,"

"No it wouldn't be long to us, you have to see it as we would, a hundred years is nothing really."

"I see if I was to become immortal, could I make someone else immortal."

"Who?" Noah didn't speak from a long time, giving Nicholas time to focus on the wall.

"I've met someone,"

"Who?"

"This woman…I merely wondered if became immortal, could she too be immortal?"

Vaguely, Nicholas remembered having a similar conversation with his first wife and it didn't end well,

"We'll see." He said carefully.

 

Given their luck they should have seen this coming. Nicholas had never seen Noah sob this hard since he lost his arm. He had kept an uncanny emotionless state to his father all throughout the week. It was only when the tiny coffin of his stillborn child was laid to rest beside his wife's did he break. He slammed the ground with his fist, crying out animalistically for his loss, throwing of Perenelle away when she tried to comfort him. Nicholas merely watched on in envy. At least he had got to bury his loved ones.

"How could you ask me that mother?!"

"I was merely saying that now she is out of the way-"

"Out of the way!"

Nicholas stepped between the two realised that you of them was going to get hurt,

"I'm sure your mother didn't mean it like that."

"No of course not darling, but now is a better time than any to do it, trust me darling."

Nicholas said nothing against his wife's persistence. Noah looked between the two of them, white lips pressed together.

"No," Noah whispered. Nicholas felt like his heart had been ripped out. No. "No, I won't do it."

"What?" Perenelle whispered,

"I won't do it. I can't leave her,"

"She's dead!"

Nicholas was pushed out of the way and Noah slapped his mother across the face. He was out the door before the echo of the slap ended, Perenelle following close behind, screaming Noah's name. Nicholas slowly stood staring at the door trying to ignore the feeling of his twisting guts and headed up the stairs to waiting for Perenelle to return, with or without Noah.

 

"Does mother-" Noah stopped abruptly, a hacking cough rocking his body. Nicholas helped his frail son to sit up, "know?"

"No, I'll tell her I return."

"And when are you planning to do that?"

"I'll stay for as long as you need me."

"Do you believe I'm going to go soon then?"

Nicholas didn't need to answer, he merely laid his son back down. The room was humid with the fever Noah had, though they no idea what had caused it nor did Noah want to know.

" You know the stone is still an option." Nicholas said taking it out of his pocket. Noah slowly put his shaking hand on top of it and closed Nicholas'.

"No it's not father, it never was." He was wracked by more cough; all Nicholas could do was hold him. The coughs turned to retches and Nicholas wasn't quick enough to move the bowl for his son, and specs of bile landing on the covers and Nicholas sleeve.

"Sorry father," Noah muttered when he was finished,

"Not to worry son," he muttered, removing the bowl and laying Noah back down.

"It's time for me and re-join my wife, even if I leave this indignity."

"You truly do love her?"

"You must have loved mother once?"

Nicholas debated lying and telling his son he had always loved his mother, but his son was dying not stupid. He held his son's hand, stroking it slightly.

"I once knew this woman, she was a perfect dancer, that's all anyone seemed to know about her and she was a good dancer to be sure." Noah closed his eyes, "But…she was a mystery and I wanted to know more about her. I wanted to find out her favourite flower, if she could sing, want she smelt like in the morning. And I did, I found out so much more. I fell in love and I cannot remember her name. but I know that I loved her, that I would have given anything for her. I tried to kill myself over and again when she died. I guess that how you feeling Noah. Do you think? Noah?"

 

"Well? Did he say yes?"

Nicholas sighed. It had been the same question Perenelle asked him every time he came back from visiting Noah since Noah refused to see her since his wife's funeral.

"No, I don't think he ever will," he muttered laying the stone on the table in front of him and sat down in the nearest chair.

"Oh he will eventually."

"He's dead." Nicholas refused to look up as the silence spread on.

"You killed him."

"No," he looked up, silent tears running down Perenelle's red face.

"You killed your son!"

Perenelle snatched the stone from table and for a horrified second Nicholas believed she was going to smash it on the ground.

"Don't!"

Perenelle cackled madly through her loud sobs, "y-you care more about this…stone than your own s-son," she closed her eyes, lips tightly pressed and threw the stone at him. "You cared more about the rock than me, so why don't you do what you always wanted and go fuck it instead of me." With that she stormed out, Nicholas watched her go, before looking down at the stone he held to his chest and breathed a sigh of relief.


	7. Chapter 7

It had begun with L. he was sure of that. But What was his first wife's name? he rubbed his eyes, he still couldn't remember. What about his second wife's? No he knew this one. He rubbed his eyes hard until he saw white spot. How could he forget the name of the only other immortal. It began with – Perenelle. Yes, Perenelle. And his son's? Noah, he knew Noah's. He had a helper some time ago, he had wanted to find his graveyard. What was his name? Nicholas rolled over digging his head into the ground. How could he forget? Well time would do that. Time had destroyed this room, the once pristine stone walls had crumbled around him, the writing he had once put upon them completely demolished. A draft whistled through the cracked walls, making noises, fooling Nicholas into thinking he wasn't alone. No wait, someone was knocking. He turned back over to look up expecting to see a homeless man or a mortgager. It was Perenelle. There was no door left to knock on so she has resigned to knocking on the closest wall,

"Perenelle?"

"I didn't expect you to still be here." She said stiffly, avoiding looking Nicholas in the eye, although that could be because years of wear and tear that left him wearing mere rags.

"I didn't expect you to come back."

She tried to step into the room but when the floor boards creaked ominously under her foot she took a step back.

"Well I'd be back eventually."

"Yes but after the first sixty years…" he trailed off and got up. She stepped backwards as he came out of the room.

"Lose your clothes but you're still holding on to that," he looked down at the stone still in his hand,

"Of course. What are you doing here?"

"I wished to talk to you."

"Ah I see. Well I would offer you somewhere to sit but uhh…" he gestured to the ancient ruins of their house. Perenelle draw her wand and cast it over him. He wondered if he had had at point the ability to pluck clothes chairs and drinks from the air.

"Sit," she said as she sat in the chair opposite him. He watched her as she made a cup of tea from him.

"How long has it been?" he asked,

"Around ninety years," she passed him his drink,

"And what have you been doing?"

"I've been married twice." She looked down at her tea.

"I see."

Perenelle seemed to ignore him as she continued to speak to her cup, "and I've had five more children…and I've watched them all die."

"I see."

"That's all you ever do isn't it?" she snapped angrily, "all you do is watch."

"Why are you still angry at me?"

"You killed my son."

"Do you remember what he looked like?" The question hit a nerve with her, slamming the tea cup down on the table. He didn't flinch.

"It's alright, I don't either," before she could slap him, he quickly added, "nor my first son or my first wife." He paid no attention to her searching stare as he sipped his tea, it had gone cold. "I loved for more than I ever loved you."

"Then why did you make me immortal and not her?"

"You were too foolish to see what you would become."

"I want to see the world,"

"And what happens when you see it all?"

"I have…mostly, but now, I'm remarried and I can't let him die."

Nicholas frowned, swirling the liquid in the cup, "I don't think you truly understand yet what it seems to be immortal. We live FOREVER, when the apocalypse wipes everyone from this earth, we will still be here. When the earth cracks neither heaven nor hell will have us. We will float forever in the abyss."

"Stop it." She whispered covering her ears.

"And you want to do that to your husband,"

"I said stop it!"

He slowly sipped more of his ice cold tea.

"Haven't you ever... tried to end it?"

"Of course. None of it ever worked."

"What about…if you destroyed it?"

He squeezed the stone. "No. you can't."

"But if it could end it all?"

"no." she throwing her cup into the air which vanished mid-flight.

"Are you afraid if dying?"

"Not really. I suppose I'm just too used to living now."

Perenelle stared at him for a moment before getting up, "I knew this would be a waste of time." The chairs disappeared, making Nicholas fall to the ground as well as his cup, yet Perenelle had allowed the clothes to stay.

"I'll see you again one day Nicholas. I'll see myself out."

She was gone before he could say anything. He rose and head back to his room to wait until that one day.

There was another knock at his wall. it was definitely sooner than the last one had been but whether it had been ten minutes or ten years he didn't know. He looked up facing a tall tanned man with a stiff smile on his face.

"Are you Nicholas Flamel?"

Nicholas stood up, "who are you?"

"I'm the minister of magic. I'd like to talk to you to talk to you about the philosopher stone."

They wouldn't stop putting needles in his forearms. They may be saying it was for his own good but it still hurt.

"Nicholas, glad to see you have pushed anyone out of any windows yet."

"Food to see you too Perenelle. I trust you were the one who told them."

Perenelle sighed and sat down beside him,

"My husband's dead," she said quietly, "I can't do this only anyway."

Before Nicholas could ask her what she meant, the minister stormed in followed by a wave of yelling reporters.

"So…" the Minister started over the yelling reporters, who were being pushed back away from Nicholas. They wanted to question him about his creations. He ignored the minister telling him the exact same thing the Italian alchemist had told him and looked at the furious crowd. He was finally appreciated.


	8. Chapter 8

A boy. A child, that had been what had been what had defeat him, years, centuries of immortality brought down by a boy. The boy who lived. He had lived for centuries and defeated by an eleven-year-old. He was already feeling the effects, his hands shaking, his vision growing weaker.

"Perenelle? Are you ready?"

She grunted, "is anyone truly ready?"

Nicholas got in the bed beside her. She that 'forgiving' him after her husband had died. Frankly she had just had been as bored as him. He sighed, closing his eyes, staying away from Perenelle in the large bed. He didn't need to be with her anymore. Perhaps his first wife would be taking with waiting for him. What was her name? He had to remember.

"It's Elizabeth darling."


End file.
